Trill of Redwall
by TruaMethist
Summary: In the Sea Lord's wake, a young mousemaid named Trill rises and proves herself to be a warrior. No flames! I'm sort of an ammature. Though compliments are welcome :) .... *PLEASE R/R!*
1. BOOK 1 - Sound of the Trill - Chapter 1 ...

*TRILL*  
  
By TruaMethist  
  
DISCLAIMER: Redwall Abbey, Mossflower, and other related material aren't mine; they belong to Brian Jacques. The characters, besides Deyna, Martin, the others (I don't actually USE these characters but I mention them) ARE mine, though! I know the title of this piece sounds a lot like Jacques's upcoming book, Triss, but I started this story before I found this out, so no, I did not get the idea for my main character's name from Triss! For you music people, the title will be VERY familiar, so you'd probably know what it is. For you others, there's a different reason, and you'll find that out later when I post more chapters. I had some trouble with the songs and the accents of the animals, so I sort of made up most of the languages spoken by the hedgehogs and the (hardest of all) moles, and any other animals. The base of their speech is from the books though, so I hope it's at least a little familiar to some of you! In the first few chapters, I'm keeping the name of the Sea Lord a secret for certain, uh, purposes, so don't ask me why I never tell you what the ferret's name is.  
  
PLEASE READ AND REVIEW! I'll write more only if I get at least three reviews from people who think my work's good! SO PLEASE REVIEW! Thanks.  
  
A LAST THANK YOU: A thousand thank you's to "55wmt", "Chia Po Linn", "Kathleen", and "Iggarsen" for replying to my emails and their help with my uploading problem!  
  
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BOOK 1: SOUND OF THE TRILL  
  
*CHAPTER 1 - The Beginning*  
  
PART 1 - Winged Witness  
  
Even a bleak winter had life. The gushing winds blew naked trees to one side and the next, swishing and whipping through the air. The least snow the creatures had seen this winter was falling softly through the sky, swirling amok as the sound and blow of wings was heard. Raorhi the great eagle scanned the northern skies for vulnerable prey, swooping, soaring, and dodging through the dense gray clouds, her sharp amber eyes placing its iron grip upon the smallest details below and around her. It was three weeks before the end of winter, and Raorhi was grateful for she couldn't snatch as many creatures to eat since the little animals seemed to benefit from the warmth of their dwellings under cover; away from Raohri's reach. When spring came, her stomach would be full again. As she began to fly lower, hoping to grab her breakfast when it came out of its abode, she sensed an ominous feeling of forbidding around a remote clump of jagged rocks near the northwestern seas. Being the queen of the skies, the great eagle had no fears but a large amount of curiosity as she glided toward a tree next to the area, and perched upon a branch with a rustle of her wings; witness to the beginning.  
  
The first figure she noticed was the one sitting majestically upon a rock, high above the shore.  
  
The black ferret, the Skinner, the Sea Lord.  
  
He was certainly not the most handsome ferret, but perhaps the most intimidating. His jet coat, including his under-belly, was blacker than the crow; even in lightless space you could see him, not because his fur was paler than empty, obscured ebony, but because he was darker that that. To make him look even more fearsome, there was a large and gruesome scar starting from the bottom of his right jaw to the top of his skull; straight across his face. It looked like his head had been slashed open. But his eyes were the real wonder he held. They were not blue, brown, or black, but it was like an abalone shell; metallic green, blue, and pink mixed in a crazy, forever-changing hybrid. Just looking into his eyes made any beast dizzy. He was not a beast who drowned himself in the large amount of riches he had; he favored simplicity because "cumbersome livery and ornaments" were useless in battle. He always wore a thick belt made out of stoat skin - some poor stoat who had been quick to speak and disobedient - where he had his lucky number of daggers - eleven - hung, ready, and a vest made out of wolf skin; he had killed the wolf himself with many witnesses. The externally charming ferret was also a learned creature who had a suave tongue and wise mind. He could trick any creature besides those who were exceedingly careful enough; there weren't many of these.  
  
"Captain!" he yelled his perch on a rock.  
  
A stoat called Kilmeni stumbled clumsily from the shore, where many of the other beasts were forging the area for food. Zokalo, sharing the spot of second-in-command with three other vermin, and his Captains had built a large fire, while Helensini, Babboly and their Captains directed some horde beasts in the catching of sea life to eat. Evanka and her Captains were looking for a suitable place to dock the ships. As Kilmeni passed the large groups of repulsive vermin, evil sneers appeared on many of their rough faces as they hissed dark phrases like, "The Lord's gonna git ye now, maggot-brain," and "Bet it's 'bout de flagon o' wine ye stole last night! The Sea Lord'll take out ye eyes den ye nose, stoat! Harhar." The stoat quickened his pace to avoid the jeering.  
  
The Sea Lord didn't learn the names of most of his crew, but he knew this stoat was a Captain managing the slaves because all Captains had spears and whips wrapped around their bellies. He lazily watched the stoat fall flat on his nose as a jagged stone came in contact with his paw. Kilmeni reached his master's sitting place after tripping about in the rocky area and came to attention with a snap, bringing the spear butt to the ground and standing up tall. "Uh - yuh - ye - yes, sir? Ye - did ye - did ye call me, sir?"  
  
His darting eyes traveled from the Sea Lord's scarred face to his hands, which were resting upon his dagger. This dagger was the ferret's personal favorite. The blade had wavy sides that could almost sink into solid stone with the lightest of movements; the hilt was made of whale tooth, the handle wrapped in wolf skin from the same creature as his vest; there were crude carvings on the side that he had gotten custom-made. The ferret twiddled the dagger playfully by the blade as if it were nothing but dull wood instead of razor-sharp metal. He balanced it on his paw by the tip while Kilmeni watched, fascinated. He gave a wild jump of surprise as the Sea Lord's paw flicked downward, the dagger soaring back into its holder upon his belt, not touching his body once. Before Kilmeni could blink, the ferret took out an older, rustier one, the dagger flew through the air, screaming like an angry wasp, and with a thud, it slid effortlessly into a tree trunk.  
  
The Sea Lord gave a smile, but it wasn't of pleasure and delight, it was more like a grimace. Though his voice was less composed than usual, he said in his sophisticated speech, "Now, my clumsy friend, exactly how many slaves to we have in the Hell's Eye for each ship?"  
  
The stoat, realizing he still had his mouth wide open, coughed and stared at the sky. He tried to look like he knew the answer. "Ah course, Lord. Well, I was there yesterday when we landed and I counted the slaves in the Cadaverun cos' I knew you'd ask and I asked all the Captains, too, sir." He exhaled in ease when he saw the Sea Lord's grin, assuming that he was out of danger for the time being. "Well, ye know, there's about, uh - well, there's - sir - 'round, peh'aps - there's mebbe - "  
  
The ferret, quick as lightening, drew out his paw and grasped the stuttering Captain by his neck, contracting slightly. Kilmeni choked and the Sea Lord snarled, "If you don't know - "  
  
He paused. "What's your name?"  
  
The stoat gasped, "Ckkkkkkthhh!"  
  
The ferret looked at him with his odd, stirring eye and snapped, "Excuse me? 'Ckth?'" He loosened his grip the slightest bit.  
  
The stoat wheezed, "Kilm - Kilmeni, sir!"  
  
The Sea Lord nodded and tightened his grip again, lifting. " - Kilmeni, ask your fellow Captains, see if they can save you," he suggested petulantly.  
  
He let go of his neck and the stoat fell to the floor with a crash. Kilmeni saluted, trying to regain his dignity, and ran off, lumbering to shore.  
  
As Kilmeni went on by, the onlooking vermin, though they weren't able to hear the conversation, knew why their Lord was in such a foul mood. Only the immensely slow was unable to comprehend why the horde had landed after the endless seasons sailing the western seas.  
  
It had only been a week since the Sea Lord's poisonous-green ship Cadaverun, his black ship Darksea, his two gray ships Arachni and Grazhlur, and his blood-red ship Blooddepth made a stop at a nearby island and gathered a handful of well-built slaves, but now he found himself with five ships that couldn't sail; they were all nearly empty in the Hell's Eye, the hollowed-out compartment that held numerous slaves, below the deck and cabins of each ship, the nearest to the water.  
  
But quite unfortunately for the ferret, the punishment for most misbehavior was always eventual death and so many of the stronger creatures had rebelled that only ones too frightened to go against the Sea Lord were left to row the ships.  
  
The ferret was wise. He knew that he needed to replenish his store quickly, for soon enough they would grow old, sick, and bent like so many others, and they would be useless to him.  
  
So the black ferret ordered his callbeast, Lousfoot, to send a message to all the ship leaders: to direct the ship, which was mainly relying on its sails and the wind now, toward the east, where he knew there was a large stretch of land; surely a home to many able beasts. And only through luck the Sea Lord and his crew of corsairs and vicious vermin managed to get to solid ground, but they were beaten and ragged from the harsh nights fighting the winter waves. They had finally reached the northland coast.  
  
The ferret's followers were angry, for they were hungry and tired. But they didn't form a big group and attack their ruler. They couldn't help but admire the Sea Lord. Instead of panicking at numerous events where any lesser beast would have collapsed in fear, this ferret remained neutral and got his entire crew through the worst difficulties. His goal? To rule the entire sea and perhaps even the land. By promising thousands of vermin riches and wealth, the Sea Lord had gathered a great horde and needed to build four more enormous ships to accommodate them all.  
  
Soon Kilmeni returned to his Lord with five wiser beasts. One was a weasel named Werzpaw who had just recruited into the Sea Lord's crew, part of the Cadaverun crew according to the skull and dagger branded into his paw. The next was another weasel, a Captain under Zokalo of Darksea named Glugface, and beside him was a pine marten Blooddepth Captain named Plopeye. The last two were the stoat Captain under Babboly of Grazhlur, Xavia, and the ferret Captain named Urcsh from Arachni. Kilmeni fearfully pushed them forward and the first weasel walked to the Sea Lord calmly, kneeling. He looked completely unfazed by the fact that, because of the black ferret's presence, he could lose his fur then life in a matter of time.  
  
The ferret looked at him with wary eyes. "Name?" Turning to Kilmeni, who was hiding behind Werzpaw's sturdy figure, he said, "Captain, Kilmeni. I believe I said Captain." Kilmeni took a while to realize his mistake.  
  
The weasel replied, "Werzpaw - " He paused and added, "Lord."  
  
Kilmeni faltered. "Well - well he went into the Cadaverun Hell's Eye once, I thinked I saw him when I was on duty, there - helping, he was, I think - mebbe he was called by the other Captains, but I know he was there - uh, sir."  
  
He grinned apologetically at the Sea Lord, who had already turned away and placidly asked Werzpaw, "So, how many oar slaves are left in Cadaverun Hell's Eye?"  
  
Werzpaw said in an accent he could barely make out, "Lest time I wez theh, narest fiph 'err soo."  
  
The ferret turned his fearsome, abalone-shell eyes on Kilmeni. "Five? There's only five? Ah, the Captains are being so harsh. While that - that mouse - is there, the slaves seem more rebellious. And quite fool-hardy. Well, well, we're in an abundant land, we can surely find more to serve us. Next!" he snapped.  
  
Glugface the Captain walked forward, saying, "In the Darksea Hell's Eye, 'bout an ten. We need more slaves, Lord. The ship can barely bloody sail." The Sea Lord raised his paw. This simple gesture was enough to make Glugface step away quickly. The ferret's ever move was dangerous. The Sea Lord said, "I didn't ask for your opinion, friend, just the facts. So, ten?"  
  
The weasal Captain nodded nervously. The Sea Lord shook his head slowly, making tutting noises. Plopeye reported, "The Blooddepth Hell's Eye, nine." Xavia and Urcsh gave their statistics.  
  
"Arachni Hell's Eye, ten."  
  
"Grazhlur Hell's Eye, nine."  
  
The Hell's Eye. This was where beasts, sea rogues and innocent ones alike, were chained to their heavy oars in cramped, confined spaces, and were forced to row the ship to wherever the ferret pleased. There were two lower decks, each deck with rows and rows of benches that could seat two, nine on each side of the ship, with one aisle down the middle for Captains to walk about. In the front of both bottom decks was a set of stairs that led to the deck above, and in the back, a large bass drum. A horde beast was often there, beating the drum so that the slaves had a beat to row to; the oars were to move at the same time. Often, if the ferret was particularly angry, the vermin would beat very fast, forcing the poor slaves into labor.  
  
Its name was not empty; it was a hot, stuffy place with little air. The only air vents in the Hell's Eye were the holes that the oars stuck out of and the thick slits cut near the ceiling. A breath of the stale air was mixed together with the constant smell of sweat; screams of pain were often heard from the newer slaves who had never felt a whiplash, and many slaves died right on their oars. The poor slaves knew it'd be better to stop rowing because they were dead than if they were merely tired. If they stopped rowing, first the "Sea Lord" ordered the slave captain for that particular Hell's Eye to whip the oar slave thirty times on each arm, once on the head, and give the beast one fair warning. Once one revolted or was too weak to row, the vermin overseeing the slaves brought him or her to the black ferret. He would tie rocks to the beast, take out a knife, skin the creature from neck to foot paws, and throw the slave into the sea. The Sea Lord's cruelty was well known, and therefore his nickname: the Skinner.  
  
Though the numbers were incredibly low, the Sea Lord said smoothly with a large dash of confidence, "We'll have the Hell's Eye for each ship full when we're through. Werzpaw!" The weasel nodded and said, "Eh, sir?"  
  
The black ferret seemed to be impressed by the weasel's unwavering attention. The Sea Lord circled Werzpaw, stroking the black fur on his chin, saying, "Can you fight?"  
  
"I wez fightin' sernce I wez a lottle weasel, 'curse I ken fight. I joined this crew teh fight, soo em ready," said Werzpaw, as if this was obvious.  
  
The ferret, in one deft movement, snatched the spear from Kilmeni - who almost tried to take it back but spotted the stoat-skin belt the Sea Lord was wearing - and offered it to Werzpaw. "And how about Captain?"  
  
He waited for the weasel to accept, but Werzpaw merely looked the black ferret up and down and said, "Noo thenks. Em fine were I em." The Sea Lord was very surprised. No beast had every refused to be Captain before. But long practice taught him to hide his surprise, and he merely nodded, throwing the spear back at Kilmeni in disdain. The stoat caught it, exhaling in relief. Had Werzpaw been brought up to Captain, he would have been bumped down to the lowest of ranks, sleeping in the small, damp cabins where the only personal space a beast had was his hammock.  
  
He uneasily watched the Sea Lord get up from his seat, who said, "You're dismissed." Werzpaw, Glugface, Xavia, Urcsh, and Plopeye walked away, most of them breathing out in liberation. Kilmeni came to attention again, expecting a task for himself. The black ferret gave the Captain a contemptuous look.  
  
"I think I said, 'You're dismissed,' " he said easily. The stoat flushed. "And while you leave, tell Snogg to come here."  
  
"But - yes, sir," the stoat mumbled.  
  
¤¤¤  
  
The Sea Lord watched Kilmeni bring over a fox Captain for Cadaverun. This fox was a sneaky one who was almost as good at double-dealing as the Lord himself, and though the ferret knew this about Snogg, the fox had proved to be a good fighter, if not the most loyal. When the two reached the ferret's perch, Kilmeni ran off at top speed towards his fellow shipmates.  
  
Snogg bowed. "Yes, my Lord?"  
  
"Take the troops, split them into four, and bring one to me. Make sure the best fighters are in the group you are handing over for me to deal with. Order the remaining to guard the ships until we search the northlands and capture at least five score slaves; twenty more slaves for every ship and we'll have one deck of the Hell's Eye full." Snogg nodded and began relaying the message to the other Captains. In turn, the Captains reported the plan to their assistants, and lastly, to the soldiers themselves.  
  
The ferret kept his odd eyes on the Cadaverun, with it's green coating, two banks of oars, around eighteen oars sticking out the sides like arms, long protruding piece of steel, and mast with an enormous whale skull perched upon it. Then they switched to the Darksea, Blooddepth, Arachni, and Grazhlur, which all had the same structure as his favorite except in different colors. On top of the mast was a flag with their mark instead of the real object itself. All five were floating high on the water though all the slaves were still inside.  
  
As a tradition running through the ferret family's dynasty goes, each ship had its own mark, it's own crest. The Cadaverun's mark was a skull, the Darksea's mark was a black wave, the Arachni was a spider, the Grazhlur was a bonfire, and the Blooddepth's mark was a sun the color of blood. The crest for each had its mark and a wavy dagger behind it, showing that all five ships were under one tyrant: the Sea Lord. Therefore, the Captains had a specific crest branded into their spear handles, telling all which ship this corsair belonged to. The spears were specially made; the tops were always flat for the brand, and the spear tip was always wavy. Even the lowest of the crew needed to have the mark upon them, so newcomers joining the Sea Lord and his horde beasts, they had their mark burned into their inner paw. This was a contract: from then on you could not leave the army you had joined, sworn to obey, die. Even though the ferret's rule was quite unformed and messy, the rules were oddly strict, and they were a form of respect that even the crudest of vermin would understand.  
  
As the news from the Sea Lord was brought out, the marching sounds of hundreds of vermin could be heard, whether they were responsible for the ships, or they would join their Sea Lord in his gathering of slaves.  
  
Coarse shouting filled the air like the cursed call of death. Each ship leader held a flag, the ship's mark upon it, flapping in the air, while masses of cut-throats, corsairs, and sea rogues gathered, looking to their leader, feeling that this ferret would lead them to wherever they were destined to go. The brand within their paw told them that the Sea Lord's path, whether it led to death or riches, was not only his, but theirs.  
  
The Sea Lord looked into the forest that bordered the northern shore, his enormous horde behind him, looking ahead to their first land raid.  
  
"It is time."  
  
He turned around.  
  
"Who am I, soldiers!"  
  
Rusty swords, spears, bows and arrows, daggers, and tarnished cutlasses waved in the air as a roaring storm of an answer came back at him, rats, stoats, ferrets, weasels, pine martens, and foxes joining together under one.  
  
"The Sea Lord, Ruler of the Blackened Seas!"  
  
Copyright © 2002 TruaMethist, TruaMethist@yahoo.com  
  
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PART 2 - Upon the Pedestal  
  
Three weeks later . . .  
  
¤¤¤  
  
The last veil of winter fog cried out one last time as it felt heat dissolving its hands of mist into mere humidity. The first sign that spring had arrived was the glow coming from the east. The birth of another day began to rise slowly over a dark horizon, casting long shadows over the still landscape of the northern forests. The black sky disappeared as the sun colored it a rich red and orange; an array of warm colors. The birds had sensed the change long before, and suddenly, the silhouette of outspread wings could be seen against the background of the sunrise; birds were flying back to their homes. Then, as more and more birds settled themselves in the leafless trees, birdsong interrupted the long silence that winter had pressed upon the creatures in the north. The last piles of snow were now puddles of water and slush. Winter's reign was over.  
  
All was silent, except for the sweet tunes of the returning birds and a singular flute.  
  
A young mousemaid sat in her plain dress and dirty apron on a tall cliff facing the sun, high above the northlands where she had lived since the day of her birth. From her position, the crisscrossing branches of the forest looked like a grove of thorns, but she knew that as spring wore on, these woods would be thick with green trees; abundance of food would return to the northern woodlanders. She was a very peaceful mousemaid, who had a natural beauty and quiet calmness that made her a creature no one could truly hate. Because of her qualities, she was also a mouse anyone could easily bend unto their will.  
  
The light breeze ruffled her soft fur, her favorite reed flute in one paw and crude basket of strawberries in the other. She had taken a pawful from the winter stores, and now she ate a piece of the red fruit, the juice dribbling down her chin. She laughed to herself. She wiped the strawberry juice from her jaw, and brought the flute to her mouth. The inventive mousemaid made up a tune to fit her moods. More melodic than the chorus around her, the flute sent a silence throughout the land, as if the birds and the trees had decided to listen to the little mouse on the tall pedestal of the cliff. Finally, the flute came away and her clear voice sang a song she thought up in the spur of the moment.  
  
  
  
"May joy never cease,  
  
May the skies be blue,  
  
Because spring is here,  
  
I'll be with you.  
  
Spring! Spring!  
  
It's time to rejoice!  
  
Sing out those tunes,  
  
Let me hear your voice!  
  
We'll dance a jig,  
  
We'll sing a song,  
  
Because spring is here,  
  
We've been waiting so long.  
  
Spring! Spring!  
  
It's time to awake!  
  
Things to be done,  
  
Cheer to make!  
  
Take me to life,  
  
Take me to mirth,  
  
Because spring is here,  
  
Bliss on this earth!  
  
Spring! Spring!  
  
It's time to rejoice!  
  
Sing out those tunes,  
  
Let me hear, your, voiccceee!"  
  
  
  
She held the last note long, stopped, and listened to the echoes of her voice ring in the air. Then, she sat for a long while, watching the sunrise, entranced by its sincere beauty. Unexpectedly she heard the thumping of foot paws.  
  
"Trill! Oh, ye rascal!"  
  
The young mousemaid recognized the voice immediately and turned to see a harassed-looking hedgehog jogging up the steep hill leading to the cliff. He was holding a wooden ladle and waving it threatening at her. She flashed a bright smile at him and called, "Well hallo, Mister Lompus. How are you this fine morn?"  
  
"Dunt ye gimme me that, young mousey," Lompus said sternly, reaching her sitting spot and leaning against the rock, huffing and puffing. He was a chubby old hedgehog who hadn't exercised since his early days. "Aye, your mother awakes an' her sweet Miz Trill ain't in bed! Your mother worried sick 'bout you, she is, an' I sez to her I sez, 'She's prolly prancing around widout a worry in the world,' I sez. An' by golly I was right! Wait 'til you're mother hears ye been wanderin' outside willy-nilly ."  
  
Trill laughed kindly and handed Lompus her basket of strawberries. "Oh, Lompus, did you run all this way just to find me? I left my canteen of water at home but these strawberries will keep you going until we get back."  
  
The hedgehog's frown vanished and he grinned, taking a few. "Aye, ye know 'ow to stay outta trouble, ye do, thanks very much ma'am, much thanks. So," said Lompus through a mouthful of strawberries, "What are ye doin' out 'ere? So early in the morn, catchin' a breath of fresh air I'm supposing."  
  
Trill took another look at the sun, which was fully out from behind the horizon now. She gestured her free paw at the eastern sky. "Lompus, look at this! 'Tis wonderful out here, playing my flute when it's all silent. Besides, I get to see the sunrise. Almost no better gift than that, to be the only one to absorb the start of the first spring day." Trill held her flute and showed it to her friend. "This is a reed flute my mother gave me yesterday. She told me to play it where all the creatures of the vast north can hear, and that was all I was doing, honest."  
  
Lompus grinned and shook his head. "An' I guess ye were right then, eh?" He scratched his spikes. "I'm thinkin' ye be wanting to go 'ome now, 'tis way past breakers an' ye be wanting to eat, I think? With any luck, ye be back quick-loyk an' there'll be at least a piece of bread left. Ye know that food-gobbler Labiette is 'appy to eat ye share."  
  
Trill jumped off her rock joyfully, snatching her flute and the wooden stick she had also brought with her. "Of course, better be moving, I'm as starved as a hare who somehow survived a three-month famine, and that's saying something. Let's go, friend."  
  
Hand in hand, the two creatures headed back down the hill, and their figures disappeared into the depths of the forest.  
  
¤¤¤  
  
"Oh, Lompus, did you find her?"  
  
An anxious mouse wife was wiping her hands on a white cloth, spotting the spiky form of a hedgehog emerging from the forest. Behind her was the same cliff that Trill had been before. In the side of the cliff were seven caves: Trill's family lived in these grottos with two hedgehog families and two other mice families. They were makeshift caves that weren't the most magnificent of dwellings, but this group of woodlanders had always moved around the forest to avoid being raided by the vermin hordes that often raked the woods for undefended homes.  
  
"Don't ye worry, Santhul ma'am, lil' Miz Trill is right here wid me," he said reassuringly. Trill appeared behind the hedgehog's wide figure. Her mother, Santhul, let out a exhale of relief and ran forward. She gave Trill a bone-breaking hug and immediately began chiding her.  
  
"Trill, you drove me mad with fright! I thought you were eaten by one of them vermin hordes, or captured, or something terrible or - Well, you never do that again, you hear?"  
  
"Yes, mother, don't fret," Trill said soothingly.  
  
Santhul was known always as a worrier, even when she was happy. Behind Santhul's back, Lompus was chuckling to himself and shaking his head. Trill gave him a reproving look and she put her arm around her mother's shoulders.  
  
"I think it's time that we had some breakfast," said Trill, leading Santhul towards the second cave where food was often prepared.  
  
Inside the warm cavern, Lompus's wife, Nadilla, was cleaning up after the morning meal. She smiled as Trill and her mother came in. Eyes twinkling at Trill, Nadilla said nonchalantly, "So ye finally caught lil' Miz Trill, Santhul. Where was she this time?"  
  
Santhul grinned at her life-long friend and replied, "Oh, nowhere as horrible as I thought. As long as she's safe and sound, I'll be all right. And 'tis odd, she was right above me the entire time, singing away and playing her flute. I must be doing deaf if I can't hear my Trill."  
  
Nadilla carried a platter over to Trill, who was hungrily looking for leftover crumbs to eat. The kindly hedgehog tapped the mousemaid on the shoulder and handed her the heavy wooden tray. "I'll be bettin' my spikes ye be 'ungry-loyk so eat all this up."  
  
Trill looked down at her breakfast: creamy milk sprinkled with cut-up parsley, a block of cheese studded with almond and celery pieces, a wooden bowl of Nadilla's famed vegetable soup, and a loaf of fresh bread. Shaking her head in disbelief, she said, "Oh, Nadilla, that was too nice, thank you." The hedgehog winked. "I just 'appened to save a platter for any beast who was still 'ungry, so it's really nothin'. Now I sez run along, play wid Kyila, Labiette, an' all ye other lil' friends when ye done, and leave the platter here. I'll wash it for ye."  
  
Trill ran outside, tray in paws, and called, "Thanks again!"  
  
Watching the little mousemaid go to find her friend, Nadilla chortled. "That 'un, I tell ye." She rubbed one of her head spikes thoughtfully. "Dint Mizter Labiette go an' try te find Miz Trill early-loyk in the morn? Ye think 'e's still out there lookin'? Since 'e prolly dint know Trill's been found already ."  
  
Santhul stroked her whiskers apprehensively and helped wipe down the long wooden table where the five families ate their meals. "Aye, he might be. I think it'll be alright, he's older than the others by a few seasons, old enough to take care of himself."  
  
Trill found a hedgehog maid around her age sitting on a tree stump close to the cliff side and went over. Trill silently watched Kyila write on a piece of bark with a charcoal stick, as she often found her doing. Trill sat beside Kyila, not so close that she sat on any of her friend's spikes, and Kyila looked up.  
  
"Oh! Trill, where were ye? Ye mother worried sick, I tell ye."  
  
Trill laughed and replied, "I heard." Trill balanced her platter on her lap. Together she and Kyila shared the breakfast. While she munched on half of the bread loaf, a thought struck her mind and she asked, "Where's Labiette? I haven't seen him."  
  
An expression of concern creased Kyila's face and she scratched her chin. "I dunt know really. At first I thought he was wid ye, ye know, two of ye runnin' all 'round the northlands, frightenin' poor creatures te death." She grinned and lowered her eyes back to her writing. " I know 'e will turn up. Prolly playin' warrior an' such. Ye know 'ow Labby is, when 'e gets that 'opeless look of courage an' runs 'round wavin' sticks. Fighting imaginary foes. No need te worry."  
  
Trill nodded her head. Suddenly Kyila giggled. "And since it's Labby we're talking 'bout, 'e is prolly losing, ain't 'e!"  
  
Their joyous laughter merged with the lingering birdsong to make the sun kissed morning of the first spring day a good start to a new season.  
  
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As the sun began to set in the west, Clematis the mouse wife was in a state of defeat and panic. She went into the first cave where the five families were sharing room around a small, crackling fire; there were somber faces all around as the mice and hedgehogs warmed their paws. They looked up at Clematis and she said, "I couldn't find him. Labiette." She twirled her whiskers nervously. "Do you think I should look just one more time? Rake the areas we have been through? To check?"  
  
Amaryllis, another hedgehog wife, replied in an exasperated voice, "We've searched since Labiette dint show for lunch. Ye think we got a hope?" Her voice softened as Clematis gave a last look into the darkening forest. "I'm sorry, Clematis ma'am, but I think we can't keep searchin'. What ye think, Prunik?" She looked around at the group. An old mouse, part of the third mouse family, stood shakily and faced the families, leaning on his wooden stick. He was considered to be the wisest, and often they asked for his sensible advice. "Amaryllis's right, the skies are darkening on us." He gestured toward the cave opening. "Look at the sky and the sun. 'Tis still in winter time and the sun's setting fast." Amaryllis nodded and put her arm around Clematis's trembling shoulders. Trill's two brothers, Wolen and Jater, chipped in, saying, "You see, 'tis sunset. Soon 'twill be to dark to see well."  
  
Amaryllis added, "We dunt want te lose anyone in the dark. I assure ye that we'll look again for ye son tomoreh."  
  
Meanwhile, Trill, Kyila, their other hedgehog friend, Dimplo, who was the youngest, and the mouse Scherzo were sitting in the back of the cave where it was warmest. Trill was thinking up tunes, Kyila was writing on her bark, Dimplo was sucking his spikes, and Scherzo was hopping up and down like an overexcited spark. Scherzo was a playful soul who had grown up sailing the seas before his family's boat wrecked on the rocks bordering most of the northern shores. From then on they had lived with Trill and the other three families. In his slight otter-accent, he wobbled each of them by the shoulders and said, "Come on, you bags of rocks! Get off your tails, we have to find Labiette! He's out there somewhere, you know? I can't let me friend be missing, mates!"  
  
Kyila looked wearily at him as he shook her, her head bobbing up and down. "Dint ye hear 'em? They dunt want te look for Labby no more. They won't let us out. The sun's set! 'Twill be too dark an' we'll get lost."  
  
Scherzo shook her harder and scowled. "Matey, I know you always say, 'If you won't do it, they'll do it for themselves.' That's what we gotta do. That's what we gonna do."  
  
Kyila sighed. "No, no, no, I sez, "If they won't do it, we'll have te do it ourselves. Now sid'down before ye hurt yeself." But then she looked down at her piece of bark. There was no writing and her charcoal stick was the same size as it had been an hour ago when the search party retired to the caves. She couldn't help but not concentrate when her friend was out in the forest at night. She glanced at Trill who hadn't spoken since noon. The hedgehog nudged the mousemaid, careful of her spikes, and muttered, "Ye okay, Trill?" Trill nodded and said, "If I hadn't gotten out of bed and wandered around, he wouldn't have been missing." She looked over at Dimplo who was shaking his head. "Noop Miz Trill, 'tis aint ye fault. Mizter Labby will be back, I sez. Ye listen te Mizter Dimplo, this 'edgehog knows what 'e sez, there's a brain be'ind this thing o' mine." He knocked his forehead. Trill laughed gently.  
  
Fenius, Dimplo's father, came over and said, "Dimplo, my boy, time for ye te sleep. We're all getting' up early tomorreh."  
  
"Ah, pwease, jus - "  
  
"Shush, Dimplo. Dunt argue, and get back to our cave quick-loyk. Lil' 'ogs loyk ye need more sleep then the big 'uns."  
  
Dimplo grinned, got up, and said, "See ye later."  
  
The two of them joined Dimplo's mother, Amaryllis. The family walked to the fourth cave. Watching them go, Kyila had a look of decision on her face. She gathered Trill and Scherzo and whispered, "We'll go and find Labiette at night, when everyone's asleep. We'll find 'im and we'll bring our rascal 'ome. We can't bring Dimplo, he's too lil'. Ye with me, ye two?"  
  
Scherzo frowned. "Why don't we just look for him with the others tomorrow instead of sneaking around in the dark?" He paused and a look of mischief crept onto his jolly face. "Heh, Kyila me mate, is this another plan for your lust o' adventure?"  
  
Trill spoke up. "I know! There are tons of things out there at night. Our Labiette could be in danger and in the morning, it'll be too late."  
  
Kyila nodded; Scherzo muttered something about knowing it all along. Trill said, "When? The sooner the better, so once we know for sure that our parents are asleep, we'll go look for our Labby. We'll meet at the oak tree in front of the first cave, no one sleeps in there, so no one will see us. As long as we're back before sunrise, we're okay. Everyone in?"  
  
The trio spit on their paws and shook.  
  
Copyright © 2002 TruaMethist, TruaMethist@yahoo.com  
  
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On part 1: Well, I wanted it to seem like, "Dum dum dum ." so that explains the 'It's time' thing. What else, hmm, oh yeah. I sort of went over board on the description of the ferret/Sea Lord guy but at least everyone has a picture of him, or at least I hope they do! And by the way, the weasel guy doesn't have an Irish accent. What else to say; oh yeah, that skinning thing's sort of gross but every bad guy's got a characteristic . The scene doesn't really feel realistic and the eagle doesn't come into this at all, but that's me; how about you? Tell me by reviewing this. By the way again, the northlands that this is happening ("this" includes Trill and everything. Don't worry, Redwall WILL play a big part in all this weird mixed-up confusion I'm brewing.) is off the map. It's miles north from Noonvale (and if you have the Redwall Map thing, you'll see what I mean). The map frame will move down WAY later.  
  
On part 2: Augh, the ending was way too abrupt. Well, if you think Trill seems a lot like Rose from Martin the Warrior, then I did something right! I really like Rose, and I think I'll have Trill be the very-extremely- really distant descendant of Brome. Or maybe she's the part of the family that didn't live in Noonvale. As I said, I'm thinking about it. She's got warrior blood mixed in with that serenity, so she's a sort of weird mixed- up mousemaid. Here's a little preview of what'll happen: really, really bad stuff. That's all I got to say .  
  
REVIEW! 


	2. BOOK 1 - Sound of the Trill - Chapter 2 ...

*TRILL*  
  
By TruaMethist  
  
NOTE: Same disclaimer and foreword as Chapter 1! Not more to say, so instead listening to me go on about Triss and Trill, read on and most of all, enjoy!  
  
PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!  
  
Thank you to those who reviewed my first chapter! Darth Tabby, thank you for your criticism. There will be more characters of course, and I sort of made the vermin part long because I needed to show the beginnings of certain events, besides the Sea Lord's army moving toward the land, that will happen later. Another reason why it was long is because I have a really bad tendency to go on and on and on; especially with a story like this where there are no limits (school papers actually have a limit) to how low this will be. And his cruelty IS a bit overboard, but I'll think of someway to tone it down without a sudden personality change, maybe something will happen that makes him, uh, I don't know. Augh! More work for me ahead!  
  
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BOOK 1: SOUND OF THE TRILL  
  
*Chapter 2 - A Trilsune in Blossom*  
  
  
  
PART 1 - After the First Flower  
  
Extract from the journal of Brother Bumbilo, Recorder and Historian of Redwall Abbey in Mossflower Country.  
  
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Spring, is it too good to be true? Answer me this, Mister! Does the sun rise in the west and set in the east? No, of course not! Dearie me, but then I look back at the Winter of the First Bloom, and how could spring be here after the long wait? Ah, the Winter of the First Bloom. I recalled Abbess Okarina naming the previous season this because when all life is supposed to be stripped from Mossflower, young Fritty the otter found a flower blooming near the south wall. Imagine, a flower, one of the most beautiful ones I've seen in a good few seasons at that, blossoming right as winter's bell rings. Abbess Okarina's exact words were, as she pointed at the delicate petals, "There's a trilsune in blossom". A trilsune? I've never heard of this breed of blossom before, and neither had young Fritty, but the Abbess merely dug the flower out and planted it within Redwall. But of course, we listened to her, as she is a wise creature, very learned indeed. Odd, eh? Oops. Ah, I've gotten carried away. I must tell myself whenever I write, "Bumbilo, old Bumbilo, old Bumbilo you fellow! What are you supposed to be doing this very second?" And I'd think, "Writing down Redwall Abbey's history, of course!" Soon I'd realize that I'm not doing my job as Recorder, and finally I'd get back on track. Sigh . I think I did it again!  
  
For many days I have sat, curled up like most ancient squirrels, next to the ovens in the kitchens, attempting to warm up my bushy but frail tail, my humble quill scratching at the parchment like one might do if he or she had a terrible itch. Even as Friar Grundle busily prepared luncheon and supper and breakfast in a busy manner, shouting for this and that and making a great deal of noise, I could still here the merry din and revelry outside. If at any time I stepped within range of the joyous bubble, a naughty Dibbun - what we can the little babies of the Abbey - (or it could be the Abbess) would throw a snowball and I'd be soaked to the fur. If I started yelling, mist would escape from my mouth and my poor crystal glasses would fog up, then little titters of laughter would be heard all around me. I'm blind enough, thanks. Aha, but the snow has melted, and no more snowballs for you scalawags! Oh, no attempt to insult either the Dibbuns, or the Abbess, of course.  
  
Alas, seasons roll by like crisp autumn apples rolling down a hill, a steep one, mind you. While our lovely Redwall Abbey and many memories stay as young as ever, we get older no matter how hard we try to concentrate all those gray hairs off. I know, I've tried! From my old days when I could run around the pond without stopping to breath, only a few remain. Currently we do not have an Abbey warrior to look after us. Varshe, descendant of Deyna the Warrior, has passed. Martin's legendary sword hangs unused above our tapestry. Hopefully, Martin the Warrior, our Abbey guardian, will bring forward another beast to look after us. But all of the Abbey warriors have left their own mark. Their wisdom, kindness, and strength have made our Abbey greater, their knowledge planted into the sandstone and down to the very foundations of Redwall, and forever with their calm certainty will they . Oh no, bad habits are often the hardest to break, as my father said. I better get a move on!  
  
Who else? Ah, out of my old crew, Wouma the badger still lives. She is now the Abbey Mother; woe to the Dibbuns who are caught out of bed! Haha, I'm just kidding, Wouma. Hidro the mouse is up and about also, far livelier than I am! He likes to run around with the Dibbuns, helping Wouma give mischievous Dibbuns bathes. Ronine, Pentquil, Chirp, Shelby, and many others have come to rest, leaving me and my achy bones behind. They have gone to the shining and joyous meadows, peace upon their memories.  
  
Now what should I say, oh yes! Today is the Spring feast! Friar Grundle has been in a frenzy, running zigzagged around kitchen helpers, nearly trampling poor Quobby the mole when the oven started smoking, his precious invention inside, a turnover of some sort, I think. Abbess Okarina has been quite secretive these days, careful to not slip any clue to which name she will choose for this season. In fact, I believe she is still waiting for the right name, but that's just old Bumbilo's thoughts. Will it be Spring of the Bumbilo, perhaps?  
  
More very good news! Like a sign of the start of a new season, an orphan haremaid has been found! While Uomba and her tiny son (cute and plump Ninnio! Arrived four seasons ago; the little mouse's already the leader of his group of mischief makers) were out walking in Mossflower, they came upon a baby hare around the age of Ninnio! We believe vermin killed her parents, poor thing, but we're taking it in. Wouma named it Alelian. What a beautiful name! She is very lively, and plays with her Dibbun pals, though they can't pronouce her name and call her, "Anen'im" instead of "AW - lell - lee - AWN!" Last part nice and long! Don't you pronounce it incorrectly, too! It's "AW - lell - lee AWN!" And if you intend to say it wrong, please don't do it in front of the Dibbuns. Poor Alelian, what if she's known as Anen'im for the rest of her life? And by the way, Wouma believes Alelian will become a strong one. She told me that when Uomba brought the baby to Wouma, the hare was not crying. When she said "strong", I wonder what she meant? A warrior? Heh, got off track again, should be doing that . . . It is wonderful that we have a hare to raise, as Redwall has not had a hare for such a long time. This is bad for the Friar, but Redwall needs Alelian very much! I don't think he's too upset about having a hare loose in the grounds (or anywhere near the kitchens!). But when the little mite, even though she's female, grows up, beware, Grundle! 'Tis sad though, for Alelian believes that Wouma is her true mother! Sigh . . . the complications in life! For example, old age!  
  
Ah, my paw's acting funny again; it's a bad case of rheumatism, my friends! More evidence of my aging as I sit in the kitchens. Yes, even in the spring, I need the warmth of the stoves, but it is still cold in the morning and I have woken early to begin writing in the kitchens while not many beasts are present. To my surprise, Friar and many of his helpers are already here . . .  
  
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"Shoo, shoo, shoo, Brother Bumbilo! You're in the way, your tail is about to add flavoring, not to mention hairs, to the amazing Redwall cake! Sit in the gatehouse, on a bench near the pond, the Cavern Hole, the Great Hall, please, anywhere but here! The feast's backbone is at hand!"  
  
Friar Grundle, the chubbiest mouse in the Abbey wearing a dirty apron over his habit, brushed the squirrel's tail aside, only to find that it sprang back in place. The kitchens were in a state of confusion, merriment, and general chaos. Mice, hedgehogs, moles, otters, and squirrels were running around, rolling cheeses, testing soups, and gathering flagons of the finest wines and juices, baking and flavoring dish after dish. There were candied nuts and miscellaneous jinkers and tinkers sprawled over the messy kitchen floor to add to cakes, tarts, and trifles. Quobby the young mole helper was stirring woodland stew in an enormous pot while his three assistants - Ebbin the squirrel, Dedrop the otter, and Jabbowl the mole - added anonymous herbs into the thick soup, saying things that made Quobby very nervous like, "You're doin' it wrong, Quobby! Friar Grundle will scold you bad for that." and "Oops. Oh, wait, it's ok. Oh wait. Too much. Oops." Meanwhile, creatures were running into and out of the kitchens, contributing greatly to the madness, and Friar handled it all; he was the ruler.  
  
"No, Quobby, you're doing it wrong, stir your ladle in a circle not up and down! Ebbin, that's too much young onion and grinded basil you added there, try to pick some out with that spatula next to you. Ah! Jabbowl! Not the honey! Ooo, Teevo, add more arrowroot flour to that, it's too watery, and remember, no lumps. Add a few dashes of almond paste, greensap milk, and pollen flour, it contributes to flavor and texture. Ah! Cunda, lift the lid of that pot, it's about to fall over. Pour the strawberry cream while it's hot, that's it. Hmm, Piage, while the base bakes, start on the seventh large apple truffle, we need three more. We'll cheat a little bit and add bilberry, no beast will notice. Jabbowl, I don't think Quobby needs your help with those other two squabbling about; start on the cherry turnover, will you? Remember, rosehip syrup after it's completely cooled, no later! Oh, the cherry conserve is - What? Oh, Kozil, are these - ah, damson juice? Hmm, I think that's enough. Get the elderberry wine and strawberry fizz, same number times two, from Muoses in the cellars. If you can manage it, bring the honeydew cordial, will you? Ah, Omekne, you have the cheese, which one is this? Ah, yellow, and I see the almonds, no, not this one, I said the big yellow ones with chestnuts and celery. Go on now. Innip, looks like you're finished? Yes, Foremole Yundo, your deeper'n ever pie, it's in the oven with the Redwall cake, take it out so we can put in Innip's - Augh! Out of the way, out of the way, out of the way, Bumbilo! Your tail!"  
  
Brother Bumbilo sniffed indignantly, gathered his writing utensils, and strode out of the kitchen, saying, "Well, if I'm not welcome - "  
  
"That's much, much better," the Friar said as he watched the Recorder walk pompously through the kitchen door. He peered outside to see the sun shining cheekily at him, and clasped his head in frustration. "Ah, 'twill be five hours a'fore noon. Then after noon, a mere six! Quickly!" He ran around, giving more snappy instructions to his helpers. Only when an otter rolled into the kitchens with a large carp on a trolley did Friar Grundle seem happy. The otter said, "Rockfelan and her buddy Fana caught it this morn, been up since few hours before dawn."  
  
Clapping his hands together delightedly, Friar Grundle cried, "The carp! A big one, two pounds, is it? Delicious!" He poked the fish with his paw. "Plump, too! Ah, nice, nice, I'll need lots of meadow cream . . ." and began pulling out spices, ordering anonymous assistants to get him wines for the flavoring of what he hoped to be a fish masterpiece. Unnoticed in the madness and din, four tiny Dibbuns slipped into the stuffy kitchen: a mouse named Ninnio, a hedgehog named Pickly, a squirrel named Jukun and the orphan hare named Alelian. The mischievous four looked like they were in their idea of paradise. The sweet aromas of baking food went up their tiny noses and their eyes were filled with the subtlest delicacies they had ever seen in their short lifetimes, all oblivious to the furry giants roaming busily above them. As Alelian was the strongest and tallest, Ninnio, his foot paws on the hare's shoulders, pulled impatiently on Alelian's long ears while Pickly climbed upon the mouse's back, flattening both Alelian and Ninnio. Jukun, who was in front of the hare, was pushed forward and all four fell on their noses.  
  
"Cumon', Anen'im! Fasta an' giddies up, missiz hare!" Ninnio complained to the completely crushed Alelian while Jukun tried to rise. Pickly snorted and got up, paws on his hips and peering around like he was in charge of the kitchens. "So dis is da kittens?" He grabbed Alelian's paw, Ninnio's paw, and Jukun's tail, pulling them up and brushing them off hastily. The four look in awe at the sights. Alelian seemed particularly drawn to the candied chestnuts rolling unheeded on the floor. She picked one up and munched on it, her unformed teeth spread into a grin as the sugar was smeared all over her face. She, striking a pose of mock dignity, stroked her chin with her tiny, chubby paw.  
  
In a bright, shrill voice, Alelian said, "Dis is bally dewightnifun, me laddie bucks! Have a chestnut. Tas'e nike, joss bally dewightnifun! An' as my mommy Wouma says, 'Take-a-baff-dewightnifun, wot wot!' Y'tink?" the hare asked, picking up three other nuts from the ground and offering them to her friends. Jukun gave a loud, high-pitched blenching noise. "Baffs stink. Watchoo talkin'ing 'bout, Anen'im. But dese chessnutties are tastiful!" Each Dibbun had another chestnut, commenting that this group of nuts, which Jukun found in the corner behind a spice cabinet, tasted different. The four spent most of their time on the floor, scrambling around for the dirty chestnuts as the paws of many busy helpers kicked and swapped the Dibbun's little treasure around and around, until Ninnio noticed a platter of warm cinnamon scones resting without supervision on the windowsill. He nudged the closest one to him, Pickly, and in result, was pricked. Ninnio yelped in pain and jumped away, loosing his balance and flopping to the kitchen floor on his bottom.  
  
"What, Ninn'o?" Pickly asked, apparently not noticing that his mouse friend was down.  
  
Rubbing his elbow painfully, the mouse pointed to the savory treat. The four licked their lips, eyes gleaming with the prospect of the riches they could have. Jukun whispered, "How we get all 'away over der, Ninn'o? Up too high. We're too nikkal!" The thought hadn't hit Ninnio. But, pretending he had a plan, he gestured over at them to go to the cloth-covered table next to the window. Before any beast could notice them, they had slipped under the table. In the dark, Alelian said, "Now we're here, wot now?" There was a long silence as each little Redwaller thought and thought. In the utter stillness, the four heard the busy kitchen helpers talking.  
  
"Friar Grundle, go take a break, you look exhausted. Me and Teevo will take care of breakfast and lunch, and you can come back after to prepare for the feast."  
  
"Thank you very much, Piage! Whew, all that ordering and baking and preparing! I'll just take a glass of dandelion burdock cup and go outside."  
  
The sound of heavy footsteps grew fainter. There was an extremely long period where the kitchen assistants bustled around, making breakfast. Then Teevo's voice said, "Kitchen assistants! Help me carry the food, come on now." Under the table, Ninnio grinned. "Now is our chance!" When a silence finally settled, the four scuttled out. Jukun balanced on Alelian's shoulders, and their joint effort paid off when Jukun's paws got a firm grip of the side holders. The platter, however, was heavy and the three other Dibbuns had to each take hold of a corner. Together, the four sneaked out of the kitchens, planning all the way. Pickly said, "We got to hide dis somewhere, else Missiz Wouma will give us baffs! How 'bout, er . . ." Jukun cut in. "Shush! Let's find some bushes, hide it in der, 'course - "  
  
She stopped talking. They had reached the southern gate, which was left open by some careless beast. Alelian gave smile that quickly spread to the others' faces.  
  
The four crept into the depths of Mossflower Woods with their supreme prize.  
  
¤¤¤  
  
Abbess Okarina meandered with her friend Hidro around the grounds. For endless seasons, this elegantly ancient Abbey had stood for peace and safety, towering against the beautiful backdrop of the surrounding Mossflower Woods. Protector of the serenity Redwall held, the outer walls, side-by-side with the walltop where, though rarely, sentries would patrol, enclosed the dust red sandstone buildings and their many accompanists: the rows and rows of fresh produce that the diligent Redwallers tended to, the giant pond and its lively inhabitants, and the many other features of this timeless Abbey. Beloved gardens, breathing flowerbeds and the blooming orchid gave birth to various different blossoms, each season showing it's own variety. On the lawn, as if a clumsy one had spilled buckets of dye over the grass, there were numerous designs of colored light, the sun's rays shining through the stained glass, high up on the wall of the Great Hall. The arches, columns, buttresses and battlements made Redwall Abbey an architectural achievement, though most creatures saw Redwall as an amiable sanctuary with famously good food, cheery and benevolent folk, and generally a happy place full of well-being.  
  
"Ah, Hidro, it is odd that, no matter how many times I walk around this Abbey, seeing the same stones in the same walls in the same buildings, feeling the same winds, the same rains, the same sun, part of the same weather in the same neck of the woods, Redwall never fails to amaze me," the Abbess said blissfully. The two had stopped at the pond and sat down on a stone bench. Hidro, ever the liveliest of the elders, picked up a flat stone lying on the edge of the pond and skipped the rock across the water, one, two, three, four hops before it sank.  
  
"Of course. Redwall, besides its other qualities, is the best form of renewed admiration and inspiration," Hidro laughed. He watched as ripples from his rock died away, dispersing into the pond. A tiny grayling looked up to see something large fall into the water. Food! It swam up quickly and tried to eat it, but found it to be hard, and quite inedible. Feeling cheated, the grayling sank back under the depths of the pond. A thought struck Hidro's mind.  
  
"Abbess Okarina, when will you entitle this season? The other seasons, I recall, you have been quicker to think up a name. Has the right name not come to your mind?" The Abbess looked up at the sky and said simply, "When the time is right."  
  
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I'm not done . . . LATER! 


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